Breath
by AngelofAsgardandMiddleEarth
Summary: Sherlock is not what he seems, he's a "day-walker" vampire. John doesn't know. Sherlock doesn't want John to know. Unfortunately, the couch decides to change that. (based off of an omegle rp) (Vamp!Lock and (eventual) Johnlock. There will be a part 2 coming soon.)


Sherlock didn't know how long he would be able to keep from John what he really was. A vampire. He was sure that John would high-tail it out of the flat and away from him, if the man knew the truth. But Sherlock was different from other vampires, being a 'day-walker' as they call him, though he did much prefer the night. The fact that John had yet to figure out the truth was a relief, and because he could walk around during the day until high noon helped him hide it. One of the hardest parts of living with a human was the constant temptation of blood. It's been hard, but he's made it so far, having to explain the blood he kept around as experiments and careful not to let on anything. He laid on the living room sofa, crossing his arms and closing his eyes, hardly paying attention as he heard someone coming into the flat. John walked in, closing the door behind him with his foot; his hands full of the shopping he had went out to get. He then went to the kitchen, spotting Sherlock in his normal spot on the sofa. The consulting detective was more asleep than anything, but was still awake enough to know that John had come into the flat, and that he had food. He decided to stay how he was, relaxing further into the sofa as he fell deeper into sleep. The doctor finished putting the food away, grabbing a biscuit for himself as he went to sit in his chair. John picked up the paper from the small table beside him. He read quietly to himself to not disturb Sherlock.

The detective frowned slightly as he moved on the sofa, making an uncomfortable sound. Opening his eyes, he glared at the sofa. Normally he had no problem sleeping there, but at the moment he found it very uncomfortable. Sitting up, he looked over at John for a moment, who noticed this movement, but didn't move his gaze. "Alive then, are we?" John commented with a slight smile.

"Yes, though I'd rather be asleep." Sherlock stated, moving to lay back down. Perhaps it was the fact that John was in the same room as him that he couldn't sleep.  
The doctor moved to look at Sherlock. "You do have a bed, you know." He said. "You'll throw out your back if you keep laying on the sofa."

Sherlock only snorted at the comment, crossing his arms. "I am perfectly fine laying on the sofa. Normally. It seems uncomfortable at the moment however."  
"If it's so uncomfortable, then move." John rebutted, turning back to the paper in his hands.

"I like laying on the sofa." Sherlock spoke softly, adjusting to try to make it more comfortable, but failing.

The doctor shrugged. "I can't help you much then, unless you'd like a back-rub or something." He suggested the idea only as a joke.

The detective knew full well that it was a joke, and even despite himself, he smiled. "A back-rub then." He said: he'd have to focus more since the man would be so close but it hardly mattered.

"Oh?" John was taken aback. "Uhm...really? Okay then..." He set the paper down, and stood to move to the sofa.

Sherlock adjusted himself so that he was laying on his stomach. He was slightly surprised John was actually going to do it, but he couldn't help but be a bit smug. The doctor hesitated for a moment, determining how he should do this; resorting to moving some things and during on the coffee table and reaching over.

Sherlock could sense the man close to him, only closing his eyes. It would be hard to fully relax, but he could manage it, even with the temptation of the other so close.  
As John began, he could feel the tense muscles through the dress shirt; he worked to loosen them and put some warmth into the cold skin. The doctor just assumed that the cold was normal for Sherlock, knowing him and his abnormal antics. Sherlock meanwhile was still working to keep relaxed, thought it was slowly getting more difficult. He felt the warmth of John's hands, finding them very nice, but his brows still knitted with his efforts to focus his attention away from the doctor.

"Sherlock." John's voice broke him out of his trance. "Just take a deep breath and relax, this won't work it's you're so tense."

Sherlock hummed once, opening his eyes to look up at John before speaking. "I'm working on it." He said. Taking a breath would help him relax, but he'd also catch more of John's scent by doing so. He swallowed, and looked straight on before taking a breath.  
John noticed this hesitation, as well as the nervousness. "Are you alright Sherlock?" He wondered, looking down at the detective.

"Hm? Yes, I'm fine. Just fine." Sherlock stated, still trying to relax; all the breath managed to do was give him a harder time in focusing away from John.  
The doctor stayed silent, he did not know whether that was the full truth or not, but he pushed that thought to the back if his mind and focused on the task at hand. He heard Sherlock begin to hum, and smiled softly. The detective only hummed to distract himself. He had to keep his mouth shut, unless his fangs decided to show themselves. John listened to the tune, but now noticed the cold once again. "Sherlock, do you have poor circulation or something? You're freezing." He asked.

Sherlock opened his eyes and glanced sideways at the voice. "Ah, yes. I've always had poor circulation. It's hard for me to maintain a normal body temperature."  
"There are things to help with that if you ever need it." John kept up the small talk, not wanting an awkward silence to befall the two if them. "It's not good for a body to always be cold."

"It's fine. It doesn't bother me and no one else is going to touch my skin, so it's not a problem." Sherlock said, being careful about how he spoke, feeling the temptation rising.

"Still though, just be careful about it." John said. He moved up to work between the shoulder blades.

The detective had to put most of his focus on not tensing when he felt John's hands on his upper back. The scent that clung to John a bit stronger now.  
The doctor couldn't help but be aware Sherlock's brows furrowing in concentration. "I know I've asked before, but I'm asking again. You sure you're alright Sherlock?" John questioned, leaning to the side to get a better look.

Sherlock cleared his throat, but only nodded. If he spoke, his fangs would be seen, and that was a fact. He wanted to take a breath, but that would only make the situation worse. John kept his gaze fixed on Sherlock for a moment longer. He knew something was off. The detective wasn't his normal, arrogant self. By now he'd be going on about how annoying it was when John repeated things. The doctor only huffed, and went back to rubbing, but keeping an eye on him.

Sherlock knew John was watching him; frowning very lightly. It'd be best for him just to get up and walk away, but then he'd feel off because the backrub was incomplete. Closing his eyes, he thought about going to his mind palace, but he might slip up if he did.

John continued, soon moving up to the actual shoulders, as soon as John was done here, he'd be completely finished, then Sherlock could get back to his normal antics and the day could get on like nothing happened.

Sherlock on the other hand was focusing all of his control into moving, and not giving into the temptation. It was very difficult, like detoxifying from a drug. He took a deep breath through his nose, regretting it instantly as all he could smell was John. "Sherlock?" John wondered, breaking the detective out of his trance once more.  
"I'm fine." Sherlock said quickly, and moved to push himself up and off the sofa. He needed to get away from John, and get some blood, but he couldn't as long as John was in the flat with him.

The doctor got to his feet as well, taking a few steps after the detective. "You are acting weirder than normal lately. Something is off, I know it." He said.  
Sherlock turned so that he was both facing away and able to walk. "I don't like repeating myself. I am fine." He said and started walking quickly for his bedroom.  
Anything to be shut away, until he could get some of his fading control back. John tried to follow, but ended up getting slammed in the face by the door. "Sherlock, come on out of there."

Sherlock only leaned against the door, not bothering to lock it. "Why? I want to be alone for a bit." He spoke, taking a few deep breaths.

"You've been alone all day. I've only been home for half an hour. Something is bothering you."

"I'm fine. I have a lot to think about and I want to be left with no distractions." Sherlock tried, biting his lower lip with his fangs.

John huffed from the other side of the door. "Think about what? There's no case, you've got no experiments, the only thing you might possibly be thinking about is how to make fun of Mycroft." He said.

Sherlock let out a quick but loud noise of frustration, turning to glare at the door. "I have far more things to think about then what you named." He said, wanting John to just leave; although another part of his mind wanted to just drag the man into the room.  
"Well, I know that. You're Sherlock-bloody-Holmes. I was just making a point." John said softly through the door. "I'm just worried about you, alright?"

Sherlock took another quick breath to calm himself down, closing his eyes. "I am fine." He enunciated, blood from his pierced lip dropping down his chin.  
The detective heard John sigh from outside the door. "Are you absolutely sure? There's nothing I can possibly do to help?"

Sherlock had to pause. He was practically craving the man's blood, and his mind almost told him the man was offering. "No...nothing." He said eventually, his voice shaking.

"Fine. I'll be here if you need anything. Just holler " John said, then Sherlock heard the footsteps fading as he left.

Sherlock leaned up against the door, sliding down until he was sitting. Every instinct screamed for him to call John back and bite; to take what he wanted and needed. He tried desperately to gain control of himself. Going to his mind palace, instinct still screamed for him to get up and go, but he couldn't do that to John, and forced himself to stay sitting. John's voice pulled him back from his deep thoughts. "Sherlock, there's some tea here for you if you'd like some." He had yelled.

Sherlock only leaned forward and clenched his jaw. If he left his room, he would lose it. If John came in, he would lose it. This was not good for him, denying himself like this would only hurt greatly in the long run. Sherlock got to his feet and began pacing. While he was getting some self-control back, he still didn't trust himself. He ran both hands through his hair, obviously annoyed, and glared at the door. He needed blood, badly, and John was out there. He cursed himself for getting into this mess to begin with. There was a soft creak and footsteps outside. John must have gotten up and gone to the kitchen. Sherlock moved to the door, sensing John's presence in the flat. He bit his lip again, before opening the door and lingering in the doorway. John spotted the detective and turned towards him. "Still okay? God, Sherlock, what happened to your lips?" He wondered, moving towards the taller one.

Sherlock dodged John's grasp and went to where he saw his tea. "Hm? Oh, I bit them." He said nonchalantly.

"You bit...how does that even happen Sherlock?" John questioned as he stepped up beside Sherlock, trying to get a better look at the wounds. "You are so reckless, I swear."

Sherlock grew very tense as John moved closer to him. He could feel his own pupils dilate as he once again tried to push down instinct. "It's fine. It doesn't hurt." He told John, moving to turn away.

"No, Sherlock." John reached out quickly and caught Sherlock by the wrist. "You are going to let me look at those injuries and there's nothing you can do about it."  
Sherlock licked his bitten and slightly bleeding lips, frowning. "Let go of me." He said quietly while looking at John, almost pleading, or as close as he could get. "Please, John."

"Not until you let me look." John said with a stern voice.

"You might get hurt." Sherlock spoke, turning a bit.  
John didn't grace the comment with much thought.

"I highly doubt that looking at some puncture wounds can hurt me, I've been through much worse."

Sherlock was watching John, he was still hoping that the man would drop the subject, but the detective allowed John to look anyway. "I might hurt you."

"Now how is that even...possible..." John's eyes fixed on the sharp canines he had seen. "What...?" He breathed.

Sherlock took a step back, turning his head to the side. His fangs had been seen. He had wanted them to be, and so they were. The detective clenched his fists, tensing for John's outburst.

John just stared, trying to process what he had seen. A hand hesitantly reached forward and almost made contact with Sherlock's dress shirt, but not quite. John froze. The detective glanced to John, panic sparking as he saw the shorter freeze up. "John?" He asked, licking his lips and watching.

John just swallowed and took a few deep breaths to calm himself as he put the pieces together. "You're a...a..." As much as he wanted to, he couldn't say it; the words stuck in his throat.

Sherlock's eyes widened as it was proven that John figured it out. "...Yes." He said quietly, standing straighter.

"So...I, uh...I guess nothing is really wrong then?" John said, surprising himself with the level of calm he maintained.

The detective sighed lightly, taking a step towards John. "You're not afraid." He stated, ignoring the question completely.

John's heart raced. "W-well...I'm not sure exactly...I don't think so...I've never been before." He spoke a bit louder.

Sherlock again stepped closer. This was stupid; it would make John hate him. He leaned down anyways and pressed his lips to John's neck. "Now?"

John tensed and stole a few glances at Sherlock's hair. The detective heard John's heart and breath quicken. From what, he didn't know for sure, but he had an inkling. He felt the same symptoms come over himself. John tried to speak. "Uh...I-I...Sher..." the doctors words faded off, and without the ability to form coherent sentences, he shook his head slightly.

Sherlock frowned against John's neck, wanting so badly just to bite down. It would be so easy, but he couldn't do that to John. "May I?" He wondered, not moving back, but grazing his fangs against the skin and letting out a breath.

John shuddered and let his head fall forward onto Sherlock's shoulder. His hands came up to lightly grasp the detective's forearms. The doctor nodded in consent.  
Sherlock let out a relieved hum before he bit down, instantly putting his arms around John to bring him closer. He moaned softly as the blood began to flow. John had gasped slightly at the pain, but it was nothing he couldn't handle. He felt the blood flow quicken, and wrapped his arms around Sherlock's shoulders.

The detective adored the taste of the blood. He pulled the man closer, desperate for contact, and John let out a whimper, not one of pain however. "Sher...lock." The doctor said softly, warning the other of the impending darkness washing over him.

Sherlock broke away and sealed the wound with a swipe of his tongue, keeping a hold of John. The doctor was on the verge of passing out, and the last thing he saw was Sherlock mouthing the words "I'm sorry, John." Before the wave of darkness crashed over him.


End file.
